


Journey of the Sorcerer (Because That Sounds More Bad Ass Than the Reality)

by missgoalie75



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Druid Stiles, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgoalie75/pseuds/missgoalie75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He reaches out a hand in a fruitless attempt to reach it, urging it to <i>come to him</i> or maybe for webs to come out of his wrists like the <i>Spiderman</i> trilogy (<i>go web go!</i>), but what he doesn't actually expect is his phone to <i>move</i> a few inches towards him so it rests precariously on the edge of his desk. | Stiles develops magic powers after the events of the Alpha Pack and his development in the months that follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Journey of the Sorcerer (Because That Sounds More Bad Ass Than the Reality)

**Author's Note:**

> Other Characters/Pairings: Scott, Isaac, Allison, Sheriff Stilinski, Deaton, Derek, etc.; minor Scott/Allison
> 
> Spoilers/Warnings: through S3a, speculation of S3b based on casting information; language
> 
> Disclaimer: Part of the title is from the same song by The Eagles.
> 
> A/N: This was an inevitability, really, if you know anything about me. A million thank yous to Annie and Kahlia for being my betas – lord knows the original draft was a hot mess. This goes to my Stydia-shipping friends you deserve all the good things xoxo

Stiles is sitting on his bed, doing his homework at a decent hour for a change, when his phone in his charger on the other side of room buzzes with a text. He reaches out a hand in a fruitless attempt to reach it, urging it to _come to him_ or maybe for webs to come out of his wrists like the _Spiderman_ trilogy ( _go web go!_ ), but what he doesn't actually expect is his phone to _move_ a few inches towards him so it rests precariously on the edge of his desk.

"What the…" he trails off, getting up and walking toward his phone.

It definitely moved – he never charges his phone and _leaves_ it like this because the last time he did that, his phone fell and the screen cracked and his dad gave him that disappointed look every time Stiles whipped his phone out until he got it fixed, so.

Weirded out, he unplugs his phone and checks the text, which is unsurprisingly from Scott. He doesn't read it and instead sends him:

_Dude, idk what's going on, but there is some Harry Potter shit happening up in here._

**

Even though Scott doesn't seem to believe him, even after two hours of trying to convince him (it would've been longer, but his dad came in and took his phone away and ordered him to go to sleep), he still grabs Stiles by the arm at school and says, "You do know we have to test this out a lot more before I actually believe you, right?"

"Fine, let's test it out during lunch. Meet me at the Jeep then. I'll move my phone again."

Scott gives him a look that clearly says he doesn't believe him, but Stiles will totally prove him wrong.

**

"Stiles."  
" _Shh._ I'm trying to concentrate."

"You've been staring at your phone on the dashboard for almost ten minutes, looking like you need to poop."

Stiles scowls. "I moved it in my room! Maybe –"

"Look, there's still time for me to at least get a slice of pizza before English – can we try again or whatever later?"

Stiles pouts and turns to look at his phone, wondering why the _hell_ it's not moving – it did last night, he _saw_ it, he _made it happen –_

The phone suddenly flies forward and hits Stiles in the eye, hurting like a _motherfucker._

"Holy _shit_!" Scott forces Stiles to lower his hands away from his eye to check it. And if Stiles looks like a moron as he grins triumphantly, Scott doesn't say anything about it.

He takes Stiles to the nurse and they have to make up an excuse of getting hit with a lacrosse ball in the eye, but there's no point in denying that there's something weird going on.

**

"What happened to you?" Lydia asks in English class, an eyebrow raised in judgment, but with a concerned purse to her mouth.

"Nothing, just. Messing around outside during lunch," Stiles says with an ice pack pressed to his eye.

She narrows her eyes in disbelief before reaching up to his hand and forcibly lowering the ice pack to the swollen area under his eye. "You can't press directly on your eye. Be gentle."

He swallows as her hand drops down to her hip and he nods. "Right, uh. Thanks, doc."

She rolls her eyes. "I swear you two will end up killing yourselves before anything remotely nefarious does," she mutters as she takes her seat behind him.

Their sub for English until they can find a replacement for Ms. Blake has known Stiles for years, so he doesn't even look twice at Stiles, except to tell him to go to the nurse to get a new ice pack since it's leaking on his desk. Stiles spends the period thinking about mountain ash and parting it without touching it and it's something he hasn’t thought about, always pushing it away to focus on more prominent things. He always just thought it was the nature of it, or something, since it seems to have magical properties – maybe it just responds to humans or something.

Stiles isn't supposed to be remarkable – he doesn't _mind_ being the powerless human, at least not as much as he used to. He has his uses, he thinks, but if he _is_ going to turn out to be something weird like the rest of the pack, then at least he has time to figure it out while things have calmed down (for now).

**

"This is going to be awesome, I can feel it. We can be a dynamic duo! You, the kickass alpha werewolf beating the bad guys with speed and fists of fury, and me, the kickass wizard beating the bad guys with _magic_ ," Stiles rambles as Scott drives the Jeep to the Stilinski house, a new ice pack on his swollen eye.

Scott stares at him. "Stiles, you gave yourself a black eye with your _magic_. I don't think you'll be helping anyone soon with it."

"Oh, come on. All I need is an awesome training sequence. Preferably with either _Rocky_ playing in the background or maybe even _Mulan_ – 'I'll Make A Man Out Of You' is badass and you can't argue otherwise."

Scott thinks and nods as he turns onto Stiles' street. "Yeah, that would be really great. But you know real life doesn't work like that."

Stiles sighs. "It could've been great though."

"I know."

"Maybe our lives can be adapted into a movie or something and I can get my montage."

"Maybe, that would be awesome." Scott parks the car and says, "We should talk to Deaton about it, though. He'll know what's going on."

Stiles nods. "Yeah, right."

"Don't do anything stupid," Scott warns with narrowed eyes.

"I _won't_. Besides, I'm going to get in enough trouble for this." He lowers the ice pack and through the rearview mirror he notices that his eye is already changing color.

Scott pats him on the shoulder. "Good luck with that, buddy." He gets out of the car and takes off in a burst of werewolf powers.

"Jerk."

**

Stiles' dad is a mixture of upset and exasperated when he examines Stiles' eye. "Can't leave you alone for five minutes."

Stiles steps out of his dad's reach. "I'm fine, it was dumb – I got distracted."

"You took your meds today, right?"

"Yeah, just. It was bad timing."

"It could've been worse."

"I know."

His dad smiles and runs a hand through Stiles' hair. "What do you want for dinner – I can make eggs? Breakfast for dinner?"

"Sounds good."

He goes into the fridge and takes out a bag of peas, tossing it at Stiles.

**

Deaton tries to keep a straight face as Stiles and Scott explain what happened, but eventually turns away, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Why am I not surprised?"

Deaton starts explaining how druids have different stages of development, that some have the gift but are never activated, while some can go years without anything happening until a traumatizing moment –

"In this case, it was…being a surrogate sacrifice. Sending you there must've triggered something," Deaton continues. "Have you been able to do anything else?"

"Besides whack myself in the face with my phone telepathically? No, nothing. No…glowing eyes or sparks coming out of my fingertips."

"It doesn't work like that. No glowing eyes. Sparks can happen, with time and training."

Stiles perks up. "Does this mean I'm going to have a professor?" he asks in an atrocious English accent.

Deaton and Scott share looks. "Good luck with that," Scott tells Deaton.

"Hey!"

"Yes, you are," Deaton sighs regretfully.

Stiles sobers a little, biting his lip. "What does this mean, exactly? Am I…in training to be an emissary or something?"

"Not all druids become emissaries, and not all emissaries are druids. You're not obligated to become one."

The tightness in his chest loosens a bit. He doesn't think he's capable of being one, to be honest.

"Can Lydia be one?"

Scott blinks in surprise and turns to Deaton.

Deaton smiles. "I would be disappointed if she didn't eventually become interested. Besides, there's no rule about there being only one in a pack."

**

"Lydia would literally kill me," Stiles says as he drives Scott home after their meeting with Deaton.

"I don't think so – you guys work well together with your…research and smartness." Then Scott side-eyes him. "So… _tether_ , huh?"

Stiles flushes and says, "I don't even know, man."

Scott shrugs. "You look better in English."

"What do you mean? Does the light hit my face in a pleasing way?"

Scott punches him in the arm; at least he's getting better at controlling himself. "You're less tense when you're in there with her. Have you guys talked at all about it?"

"Kind of hard to do that when she metaphorically sticks her fingers in her ears at any sort of legitimate conversation that may stray into our supernatural lives and skips off with Aiden or Allison or literally anyone else within a ten foot radius."

"Can't really blame her for wanting a break – we did purposefully leave her in the dark," Scott says quietly. "There wasn't a lot of time to be bitter or feel betrayed."

"Yeah," Stiles says, gripping the wheel tighter. "I know."

**

Stiles is able to move his pencil effortlessly back and forth on his desk without touching it when things start happening in Beacon Hills, all prompted by Lydia screaming in the hallway.

Scott is holding one hand on his ear and bringing his other to rest on her shoulder, a grimace on his face.

" _Lydia_ ," Stiles says, trying to get in her field of vision, but he and Scott don't seem to have any effect on her – eventually she stops screaming and looks like a gust of wind will knock her over.

She leans forward and grabs the sleeves of Stiles' shirt in her fists, out of breath, and before he can stabilize her, Aiden has an arm wrapped around her waist and the thing that hurts Stiles more than it definitely should is that Aiden doesn't even acknowledge him.

It's ridiculous, but he tempers it down as they walk away from prying eyes and hushed whispers to hear what Lydia has to say.

**

The death she warned about was a man who lived three towns away; werewolves are coming.

**

At least this werewolf – yet another new student – doesn't morph with her twin: she's actually really attractive with almond brown eyes and a heart-stopping smile. And no twin at all, which is kind of a pity since she's _really_ pretty and Stiles wouldn't mind seeing double of her, but.

It's just too bad that Stiles feels that there's something a little off about her.

"Is this some…wizard/magic thing? Because I don't know…" Scott starts, looking over at the girl in question, who's chatting away with Allison and Isaac, laughing at something Allison said.

"I'm going to find out," Stiles states.

(Which just means he'll spend twelve hours on the internet in hopes of something being right.)

**

Celtic mythology gives him nothing, so he branches out, deciding to go Chinese, then Japanese.

He doesn't realize that half the items in his room are floating a few inches off the ground – including his bed – until his dad knocks on the door, scaring him out of his focus and sending everything falling to the ground at once, all in slightly different positions.

**

It takes a few minutes of staring at it, willing it to move since it _happened_ , and eventually he can levitate his desk a solid foot off the ground.

"Suck on that, _Wingardium Leviosa_."

**

"I just don't get _why_ I can do certain things and not others," Stiles says, frustrated as he swings his legs over the operating table after hours.

"Well, what's the common factor of the things you can already do?" Deaton asks, glancing up from his cleaning.

Stiles rests back on the table, staring at the white light, uncomfortably reminded of his time in that…whatever. That place he doesn't like thinking about since he tends to go there in his sleep more often than not.

He closes his eyes. "I know I can do them before I…do it."

He rolls his head over to look at Deaton, who's smiling. "Do you remember what I told you before handing you the Mountain Ash?"

"…Believe. I have to believe it will work. Imagine the outcome," Stiles says, eyes widening.

"It sounds easy enough," Deaton says, no doubt sensing Stiles' train of thought, "But it's harder than you'd think. Doubt is a very powerful thing."

**

Stiles practices by taking a handful of Mountain Ash and using it to circle his entire house.

He gets halfway around when he has a simple – _what if it doesn't –_

And he runs out.

(A chill goes up his spine because it's wildly inconsistent and they can't afford it.)

**

"There's something off about the new transfer," Lydia says to him without ceremony as he's opening his locker.

He looks at her, noting how serious she is. "I've been doing research, but Asian mythology is extensive. I might pull an all-nighter tonight because it's bothering me."

"You look like you've been pulling a few," she says, disapproving.

"Yeah, well. So much to do, not enough hours in the day..."

She glares at him. "Scott told me about your becoming Matilda."

He's going to kill Scott.

"I should kick you in the balls for trying to leave me out of the loop again," she continues with a growl.

Stiles automatically winces and curls into himself a little. "I've been trying to figure it all out!" he says defensively. "I'm sorry, I am. It's just…well yeah, basic Matilda stuff. Nice reference."

She shrugs. "I'm sure you've used up all your _Harry Potter_ ones."

"Never. A new one everyday."

She smiles and shakes her head. "I can do some research too – prevent you from staying up all night. The bags under your eyes are bad enough. I can lend you some concealer so you'll look less like a ghost."

"Why would I cover them up? They're the results of hard work and preservation."

Lydia side-eyes him. "Get some sleep, Stilinski. I'll text you if I find anything."

"Likewise."

She gives him a small smile, resting a hand on his arm for a few moments. He shivers a little and closes his eyes briefly, feeling like he can fall asleep standing up.

She drops her hand and walks away, but her touch lingers.

**

"I should win something for being right with all my gut feelings, I swear," Stiles mutters to himself as he reads over about kitsunes, something clicking in his mind; he _knows_ this is what she is.

From Stiles Stilinski:  
 _She's a kitsune – look it up – it totally fits.  
_  
From Lydia Martin:  
 _Come over to Deaton's – we're having a meeting about it; I figured it out a half hour ago.  
_  
From Stiles Stilinski:  
 _Should've known you'd beat me to the punch. Be there in ten._  


**

Scott, Allison, Isaac, and Lydia are already there when Stiles arrives.

"Now, can someone start explaining what the hell a _kitsune_ is?" Peter drawls behind Stiles, scaring the crap out of him.

Stiles' skin crawls the entire time Deaton explains what he knows about kitsunes and why she's probably here, how more like her are probably near by, and Stiles realizes it gets worse whenever Peter speaks.

It's nothing new, really. He's always uncomfortable around him, about the constant reminder of his half-second of weakness when he considered taking the bite.

Lydia is constantly swallowing and pursing her lips. He catches her gaze, which goes to Peter and back to him again.

Stiles nods and wonders how annoying Derek is going to be when they eventually call him back here to deal with his ridiculous, frightening uncle.

**

His dream involving a door and whispers that sound familiar are cut off by a distant scream.

It's the first time he can hear Lydia's banshee cries from so far away.

**

They call Derek at three in the morning, figuring they're going to need backup against Peter, who seems hell bent on becoming an alpha again, which means he's trying to kill Scott, which, in Stiles' book, means Death with a capital 'D' since no one fucks around with his best friend and gets away with it.

Aiden and Ethan are confused, wondering why their 'ally' is betraying them, and they're all weirdly bored by it. In particular, Aiden doesn't seem to understand the rage Lydia is keeping in check.

"I'd like to see him suffer, if you don't mind," Lydia says to Scott before walking out of the room.

Scott shudders. "I may be a true alpha, or whatever, but she's scarier than I could ever hope to be."

Stiles sighs – _isn't that great_? But he doesn't say it while Aiden is in the room.

**

Some idiot is complaining to his friend about being stressed when he doesn't know what being stressed _is_.

Does _he_ have to juggle werewolf drama _and_ learn how to use magic _and_ working on a border around Beacon Hills in the wee hours of the night _and_ studying for the SATs _and_ doing homework _and_ trying to come to terms with his feelings for a long-time crush?  
 _  
I don't think so_ , Stiles thinks bitterly, accidentally breaking his pencil.

(No magic necessary for that.)

**

Scott, Derek, and Allison are dealing with Peter and Stiles speeds through the rough paths in the woods – Lydia in front and Isaac in the back, both screaming directions in his ear.

 _He can do this_ , he repeats to himself over and over in his mind as he rushes through trees, running over branches and rocks, he _has_ to because Peter will kill them all and they _can't –_ they just have to make it within Beacon Hills, within the border he set up with Deaton and Ms. Morrell and they'll be safe, it'll all be fine, he _knows_ it's going to be fine –

(Butwhatif.)

Stiles feels something hit and crack under his car and dread zooms through his system when his dashboard lights up.

Isaac sniffs and growls. "Are you _fucking kidding me_ , Stiles? The oil line!"

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck," Stiles says, horrified as the car slows to a stop against his will, engine finally turning off, and Lydia is biting back a scream, but he's not sure if it's a human reaction or _banshee.  
_  
He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, his breath stuttering in his chest. He can hear Scott howling and the faint thrum of arrows through the air.

"Stiles," Lydia says, her voice soft and nearly inaudible through the pounding of his pulse in his ears. "You have to focus."

His grip on the wheel is so tight that his knuckles bone white surrounded by red. He closes his eyes and breathes, sensitive to Isaac vibrating in the backseat and Lydia's hand now on his.

He loosens his hold a little.

"Stiles," she says warningly and he can hear them catching up.

Focus. Believe. Imagine the outcome and –

_Make it happen.  
_  
He turns the ignition and the Jeep roars to life and he _goes_.

**

He can feel when they've gone through the barrier and Isaac is cheering, Lydia gripping his knee and laughing in relief.

Stiles exhales and the Jeep promptly screeches to a halt, throwing them forward. He shuts his eyes and rests his head on the steering wheel, trying to breathe properly, the electric buzz under his skin fading away and leaving him unable to move.

His door is opened and Scott is maneuvering him out of the car, hugging him tightly. "You are a fucking _kickass wizard_."

"I think it's druid in this universe," Stiles says weakly, patting him on the back. "My car is fucked beyond help, though."

They look back at the car, which is smoking a little under the hood. The tires are worn down to almost nothing, which is just as well that Stiles was unaware of that.

"This is going to cost me a fortune," Stiles whines, adjusting so he has an arm around Scott's shoulders, resting his weight into his side, knowing he can take it.

"I'm sure the pack can all chip in on the magic car," Scott says soothingly before turning to Lydia and Isaac, and Derek and Allison. "Right?"

Derek looks at the car with a grimace. "I'll take care of it."

Stiles is touched. "Really?"

"I'm sure it's your unhealthy obsession with your car that made this all even possible, so there's no choice but to invest in that hunk of metal."

Stiles scowls and Allison unsubtly elbows Derek in the chest.

They can see Peter from the other side of the border, glaring at them fiercely and Lydia sticks up her middle finger, a clear 'fuck you' on her stunning, stunning face.

They're getting better and the whole pack thing, Stiles thinks as Lydia takes his phone and informs his dad of the situation.

**

(There's a Saturday night in which Stiles leaves his house to drive with no destination in mind. Being in the Jeep again eases the tension in his shoulders and it feels good to hear it go on the pavement. He gets on the freeway and heads south in hopes of thawing since it's still too cold in northern California, but he gets a text a half hour outside of Beacon Hills from Lydia, asking if he'd pick her up from so-and-so's house.

She's drunk but she's quickly sobering up, not saying a word when he passes by her house and gets back on the freeway. He doesn't ask about the party, why she was without Allison, (where's Aiden tonight?), what happened, and let's her cry while pretending he doesn't see a thing.

"I wanted to be normal for a night. Like before," she admits quietly. They passed signs for San Jose twenty minutes ago.

He doesn't say anything in response because what's the point? She already knows – she's smart, smarter than he is, at any rate.

She turns on the radio and she lands on One Direction – they both know all the words (even though he pretends not to for the first verse) and they're shamelessly singing along by the second chorus. It's the first time in a long while they feel their ages.

Eventually at almost three in the morning he stops in Lydia's driveway. He turns off the ignition and he can see from the motion sensor lights shining on her face that her makeup is running a little under her eyes, her lipstick faded to a stain.

(He wants to kiss her to make her mouth pink again.)

"Thank you, Stiles," she says, solemn.

He nods, a lump in his throat and he knows he won't be able to speak, that he'll make a noise when he leaves her house, when he's back in the safety of his bedroom and his pillow can catch his sobs because he knows what this is.

She leans in and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek before hopping out of his Jeep. She does it with grace now.

(His heart hurts on the way home and he sneaks past his dad, who fell asleep on the couch waiting for him, and curls into himself in bed. He's silent and it's just as well that now that he loves her, he can finally shut the fuck up about her.))

**

With a win on the Peter front, there's a loss on the kitsune front.

It's too familiar – bile burning like acid in his throat as he strides through the hospital, trying to find Melissa, who can't manage to be calm and cool, not about this.

"We've stabilized him for now, but he's in a coma and –"

Windows shatter around him and he feels uncontrollable until she hugs him, shushing him and running a hand through his hair and if he closes eyes and holds his breath, he can imagine the sweet smell of jasmine and hear a Polish lullaby he's long forgotten.

**

Stiles is staying at Lydia's house that night when he dreams: Lydia is standing by an open door, talking to his mom of all people. They're smiling and it's a nice thing to watch. His heart aches at how his mom doesn't seem to notice he's there, but eventually Lydia senses him and smiles at him, gentle and sad.

He wakes up with tears rolling down his cheeks and he muffles his sobs into her chest as she holds him close.

**

There are three ways to kill a kitsune:

Being eaten by a dragon or _oni_ , and he doesn't think Daenerys Targaryen is going to fly in with her three dragons any time soon; exorcism, except there are too many translations and he doesn't like the odds of picking one and hoping for the best; blessed or magical weapons.

He snaps his fingers and out comes a spark.

He thinks he can manage something.

**

Lydia tries to tell him that it's not a good idea, what he's attempting.

"It's going to fuck you up," she states bluntly, but there's genuine fear in her eyes. "You can't tell me you're still suffering from the sacrifice – I can _feel_ it; I want to scream every time I touch you," she takes his hand anyway and squeezes it. "Please. We'll find another way. I'll learn Japanese, I can do it in less than a month and we can figure out an exorcism –"

He leaves her in the hallway, but there are consequences for his actions.

**

The kitsune is dead but black marks swirl up his arms from his wrists to his shoulder blades.

It's like he's wearing weighted sleeves and Deaton and Ms. Morrell look grim as they inspect his skin.

Apparently it's one last 'trick' of the kitsune – he has no access to any of his powers.

"It's just as well it's the end of the school year," Deaton says, shaking his head. "We'll have to take you up north to alter this."

"What, I can't –"

They don't leave much room for discussion and his dad has been in a coma for almost two weeks.

**

Aiden and Ethan decide to pack their bags and leave, much to Danny's heartbreak that he tries to hide. Stiles can't say he's surprised – if he were them, he'd take the chance to get out.

Lydia ends her relationship with Aiden before he can even open his mouth to explain.

"Can't say I'm surprised – they all can't wait to get away," she says, trying to be nonchalant, but she can't hide the disappointment and bitterness.

He places a heavy hand on her back and for a minute, he thinks he can feel his magic, or whatever it is, flowing through him again.

"At least the pack is always here," she says.

"Yeah, except for me." He lifts the sleeve of his shirt a little, showing off some of the black swirls. "Apparently I need to be taken _up north_. Something about the _build up_ and subsequent releasing can do damage."

"We'll check on your dad," she tells him, easing the tension he's been carrying in his chest; it's good to hear it out loud, even though he knows his dad will be well taken care of without him in town. "We can send you care packages while you rough it out in the woods."

"Wait, what – who said anything about the _woods_?"

**

Lydia's right, of course – Ms. Morrell and Deaton take Stiles up to the woods of Canada to an abandoned house that gives him uncomfortable flashbacks to Derek's burnt home.

He's told to drink potions and to refrain from eating for twenty-four hours, which is bad enough. Especially the potions – they taste all kinds of disgusting and one makes him puke throughout the night.

But nothing compares to being _tied to a tree_ – "It's so you don't hurt yourself – you'll see," Ms. Morrell explains sympathetically as she tightens the rope binding his wrists – in the dead of night, the chill seeping through his clothes and settling in his bones.

He doesn't remember the next few hours because he goes in and out of consciousness – the pain so unbearable that he passes out, but it wakes him up again because it's too much and it happens again. And again.

Again.

Y otra vez.

Ponownie.

(He remembers things he's forgotten: his mom on the phone with her distant relatives, speaking in a broken Polish that gets smoother over the call and one time she keeps saying _ponownie_ – he never did find out why…maybe he can ask Lydia to ask her since she seems to be able to chat with the dead.)

((He thinks of Lydia and maybe he's delusional, the agony driving him mad, but he can feel a cool, comforting hand over his eyes and her telling him to sleep, _this too shall pass._ He doubts she'd ever say such a thing, but it does the trick.))

**

Stiles wakes up with sore limbs and an empty mind in a bed. He thinks he should be starving at this point, but it feels like he had a rough night drinking, but was lucky enough to not have vomited the night before.

His cell phone rings on his desk and he doesn't even think about it when it automatically flies over to his open palm. He smiles and checks the name, deciding to answer it.

" _She was talking about your neighbor's dog that used to come into your front yard and pee in your garden._ "

"Huh. Thought it was 'bout my dad."

He can hear her shaky exhale.

"I moved my phone, so. Assuming it was a rousing success."

She's silent.

"Lydia?"

" _You do know I heard you in my head, right? Screaming. Over and over. Then this…silence and I thought every time that maybe you gave up, that you were…but then you'd scream again, it. It lasted for_ hours _. Scott was ready to run to Canada before Deaton called._ "She sighs out of exhaustion and his fingers twitch for her. " _You sound drugged._ "

He shrugs and burrows his head deeper into the pillow. "May go back to sleep."

" _Okay. Call when you're awake._ "

"M'kay. Love you."

He hangs up and falls asleep for another few hours.

**

He sits up in horror with wide eyes. "I did _not_ say that," he says out loud, because he couldn't have said _love you_ to her – that would be absolutely insane and delusional.

He scrambles for his phone to text her something, _anything_ , to erase what happened or at least find a way to laugh it off, but there's already a text from Lydia in his inbox.

From Lydia Martin:  
 _Stop panicking. It's fine._

What's _that_ supposed to mean? Does she plan on killing him when he's back in Beacon Hills? Is it actually fine and she doesn't care? Is there a happy alternative in existence because he can't think of a single one.

He looks down at himself and realizes that not only are there black marks on his arms still, they're all over his chest too.

"What the _fuck_?" he screeches in a rather embarrassing moment.

**

_  
Apparently_ the marks are channels, they improve his magic somehow now that the kitsune _whatever_ is out of his system and all he can think of he has _huge tattoos_ and he's not even eighteen yet and when he wakes his dad up (he _knows_ he can do it now), he's going to be _ridiculously_ pissed.

"Humans can't see them," Ms. Morrell says. "Eventually, you'll be able to hide them from the supernatural, but that comes with time."

He blinks and for a second, he can see similar markings on her arms, much like branches.

**

(They were right – the damage is _massive_ – a large circle of fallen trees around the one he was tied to and who knows what people are going to think of that.)

**

Stiles is _supposed_ to go back to his house – he knows that's what they meant when they told him to go home – but he's buzzing and visiting hours are over in ten minutes and he doesn't _have_ a home without his dad –

He straddles his chest and places his hands on either side of his dad's head, shutting his eyes. This is _totally_ going to work because that was the whole fucking _point_ of _everything_ –

His dad shoots up with a rough inhale, throwing Stiles off the bed. He may have a bruised tailbone, but his dad is _awake_ , nurses streaming into the room in a frenzy.

**

"You know what I meant when I told you to _go home_ , right," Deaton states rather than asks as he forcibly leads Stiles back to his Jeep.

"Like you didn't know I was going to the hospital," Stiles snips.

Deaton sighs tiredly and once Stiles shuts his door, Deaton adds, "Nice job. How do you feel?"

"Good. Great, really."

"Good."

That look promises more studying and learning and Stiles deserves a fucking vacation.

**

Lydia is sitting on her front step, texting furiously on her phone.

"Lydia," he says, surprised. "How did you –?"

She looks up and immediately pockets her phone, standing up. "You were on the verge – in that…in between space between the living and the dead for hours. You'd come and you go, screaming. Unaware of anything."

Stiles flushes with embarrassment. He's been trying to ignore her saying that on the phone, but her elaborating makes him imagine himself as a three year old having a temper tantrum in the supermarket.

"Your dad has been doing the same for weeks, more consistently. I check. He finally flickered out for good. I figured you've come back and healed him," she continues, sounding matter of fact.

"Oh. Flawless logic, then. As always."

She smiles. It's weird seeing her in jean shorts, but he likes it a lot. "How do you feel?"

"Uh," he swallows, "Okay, I guess. Restless. I mean…it feels like I have aftershocks. I'll probably collapse onto my bed or something, I'm probably exhausted in reality and just don't know it."

She nods, her eyes starting from his eyes down to his feet. She stops back up at his shirt. "Why are you wearing that sweater – it's almost ninety tonight."

He looks over her shoulder around the neighborhood, but it's pitch black. "Come inside." He steps back and lets her in.

She shuts the door behind her and then he removes his sweater, sighing at the cool air hitting his skin. Lydia, on the other hand, is gaping at his arms. " _Jesus_. No wonder you were you screaming." She steps closer to him and lightly touches a mark on his forearm. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and he feels less like crawling out of his skin.

Instead of pulling away like he expected her to, her hand lowers to his and she holds it. His stomach clenches for something that won't happen.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, dropping his hand unceremoniously.

He shakes his head.

"So…I guess you should go to bed."

"Yep, that would be the sensible thing to do."

In a dream world, or maybe in a romantic comedy, they'd come together in a heated kiss and have sex in his bedroom, but since this is reality and Stiles has resigned himself to not having sex until he's gone from Beacon Hills, Stiles heads up the stairs and says, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Lydia gives a long suffering sigh as she stomps after him, knocking into his shoulder as she walks up the stairs ahead of him. "You're an idiot," she tells him, but he's distracted by the teasing glances of her upper thighs.

"I've been told that on occasion," Stiles says, voice rough before he clears his throat. "My SAT scores say differently, but."

"That's hardly a benchmark of intelligence."

" _You_ got a perfect score no doubt."

"No doubt," she agrees, smiling a little at the top of the stairs.

He stops a step below her and he's still a little taller than her despite her four-inch sandals. "Are you staying?" He pauses. "There's nothing to eat here in the morning, though."

"Take me out then."

The fact that he was able to even respond with a positive response is somewhat of a miracle.

**

They wake up at six in the morning and she throws on one of his shirts after stealing a shower and he wished she'd joined him or he joined her – whichever – not really for sex since he doesn't think he's coordinated enough for that, even if he were a sex master; some things are better left for imaginations. Or porn.

He drives to the diner and she pays attention to his hand on the gear, when he switches at turns and red lights and he's about to offer her a proper lesson except he's distracted by her dilated pupils and flushed cheeks.

He focuses on trying not to crash the car the rest of the way to the diner.

**

Nobody from school is there and it's peaceful, only the quiet mutterings of elderly couples and the soft music from the local classic rock station coming out of the speakers.

They split French toast, bacon and eggs, and a glass of orange juice since they always give too much for just one person, especially since they're chugging coffee (hers with milk, his with enough cream and sugar to make it not coffee, but he's down to two sweeteners from three).

Her legs are intertwined with his under the table and it's weirdly natural, even if he is mentally having a breakdown over it. Kind of, at least he thinks he is, he has to be, right?

Sometimes the marks on his arms scare him, the black shocking against his skin. After a few times of jumping in his seat, she follows his gaze and comments, "They're not bad."

"Eventually I'll be able to hide them from everyone, but. I should get used to them." Then he grins. "I bet if I got a real tattoo, it would tickle me or something."

"Please don't get anything stupid to test that theory out."

It's his body, he can do what he wants, but he's getting _vibes_ from her like, she's eventually going to appreciate his body or something equally fantastical and she likes what she sees and doesn't want him futzing with it.

It's definitely a pipe dream, but it's nice to ponder over while eating French toast.

**

Stiles drives his dad home and it's like nothing has happened in terms of his health.

"The doctors were _baffled_ ," his dad drawls, side-eyeing Stiles.

"Yeah, like I was going to wait until you _maybe_ woke up naturally."

"Well, try to keep the _miracle healing_ to a minimum." But his dad is smiling and bringing him in for a hug that doesn't end for a while because Stiles won't let it.

**

The rest of summer consists of father-son bonding – especially since he'll be a _senior_ – chilling with the pack, going to the beach, learning magic, which is kind of like summer school, which is boring, but he thinks he can feel himself getting more powerful, which is a bonus.

Maybe this coming year there won't be any major fuckups from his end.

**

"Are we still going to college close to home?" Stiles asks Scott because it's been a few years since they've had this discussion, when they automatically agreed to stay near their parents (and near each other, even if they don't go to the same school).

"Yeah," Scott answers, like it was a stupid question and Stiles exhales in relief. "Want to play _Halo_ until the sun comes up?"

"Duh."

**

Scott and Allison get back together at some point in the few days before the start of senior year and they would annoy Stiles a lot more if he didn't know that Scott honestly considered Allison to be It for him.

Which, Stiles can see.

(Regardless, Stiles and Isaac are the first to grab a table and they're grumbling about permanently losing Scott.)

"I suppose _everyone_ just _has_ to pair off," Isaac sighs, spinning a water bottle between his hands.

"What do you mean _everyone_ – there's only Scott and Allison," Stiles scoffs before taking a large bite of his grilled cheese. Awesome pick on his part.

Isaac gives him a pointed look. "Right. Just Scott and Allison."

"Hey, I'm the master of sarcasm, you can't use it against me, and secondly, I know what you're insinuating, but –"

Scott, Allison, and Lydia arrive, Lydia looking bored. Stiles wonders how long she's been with them.

"I gotta go be not a half of a couple somewhere else," Isaac states as he takes his bag and leaves.

Stiles sighs and rolls his eyes as Scott and Allison sit across from him, both greeting him briefly before turning towards each other in deep conversation.

Lydia takes a seat next to Stiles and smiles at him, taking a curly fry from his plate and popping it in her mouth.

"I've never seen you eat anything fried in my life," Stiles says, trying to ignore Scott giggling at something Allison said.

"You've never gone out with me – I'm leading the brigade to McDonalds at two in the morning."

He raises an eyebrow. "What do you order?"

"Quarter pounder with cheese."

Stiles has to look away because he's pretty sure he's projecting 'GOD YOU ARE AMAZING AND I LOVE YOU LIKE A LOT' like whoa, which isn't really appropriate given everything.

Once he's composed, he busies himself with finishing his grilled cheese, except from the corner of his eye he can see Lydia casually eyeing it as she chews on her fruit salad. Because he's a lovefool ( _love me, love, say that you love me…_ ), he tears off a chunk of the sandwich and places it on his napkin, pushing it to the left towards her.

A minute later, he feels her hand, reach across to his arm resting on his lap, moving it so she can comfortably rest her hand over his.

He pauses with his water bottle halfway to his mouth before putting it down on the table, his other hand trembling a little. He flips his left hand over so he can lace his fingers with hers, which she goes along with, squeezing his hand briefly.

He sneaks a glance at her, but she's chewing on the bit of grilled cheese he gave her. He smiles and picks up his water bottle again.

**

"That girl can see your tattoos," Lydia notes as she leans against the locker next to his, casually nodding behind him.

He puts his books away and slams his locker shut, glancing over and seeing a freshman with dark skin and wide brown eyes staring at him, then glancing away when he catches her.

"And so it begins," he sighs dramatically. "Hopefully she can be a nice friend."

Lydia also sighs. "I bet twenty bucks she's a born wolf and hasn't been triggered yet."

"Why go against those odds?"

"What odds?"

"I'm going with your gut and saving the twenty bucks for a video game or something."

She snorts and pushes herself off the locker. "Or you can save it for something else."

"Like what?"

"Wait for me after school."

(He doesn't pay attention for the rest of the day.)

**

She directs him to a random McDonalds thirty minutes away from Beacon Hills and they get quarter pounders with cheese and medium fries.

"I wonder how annoyed they get at people asking for a Royale with Cheese," Stiles ponders as he steals some of her barbeque sauce for his fries.

She steals some of his mayo-ketchup combo in response and says, "Probably really annoyed, especially since a Royale with Cheese isn't a name of the Quarter pounder in any country."

"…I'm _so_ tempted right now to just reach over the table and kiss you, you don't even _know_ ," Stiles groans.

"Do that and die – we're sanitizing our hands and brushing our teeth before that happens."

"Wait… _really_?"

"You did buy me a meal."

"Yeah, but… _huh_? And I don't care if your mouth tastes like McDonalds it'll still be you," he stutters, wondering when this shift happened, how it could've been so natural to end up here.

"Aw, that's sweet," she says, cocking her head to the side. "But trust me, it would be disgusting."

He looks between her and the other half of his burger, contemplating on throwing the rest of his food out just so he can be a step closer to _kissing Lydia Martin_ –

"Stiles," she says in warning, looking at his cup, which is _vibrating_.

He brings a hand to stop it. "Er."

She grimaces a little. "This may be a future problem."

**

It is a little bit of a problem when he's kissing her, hand driving down her back to her hip when some of her makeup on her vanity shakes so much that it falls off.

She pulls back and purses her swollen mouth at him.

"This doesn't happen when I jerk off," he bemoans.

"You'll just have to work harder with Deaton," she says, patting him on the chest. "And you better," she adds with a threat. "Because as much as I think I'm going to enjoy making out with you, my belongings are _way_ too important. Especially my limited edition perfumes – you break it, I'll break your dick."

There's an immediate surge of love for her through his system, but he keeps that to himself, even though she knows, and instead gives her a light static shock on her hip.

She punches him in the chest, but when he's bent over in pain (she can _seriously_ do damage), she kisses him again, biting his bottom lip as a reprimand.

**

So, he has senior year, psycho training with Finstock, werewolf drama that will inevitably unfold, college applications, magic classes, and a first ever girlfriend. He can totally do this; he's ready.

(And he doesn't even need a wizard's hat, even though Scott keeps trying to give him Merlin-inspired hats, and wands are for losers (even though he's tempted to get one of those _Harry Potter_ replica wands that are almost forty-dollars apiece, but sometimes he settles for his pen).)


End file.
